


Let The Good Times Roll

by diannelamerc



Series: The Mardi Gras Series [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Exhibitionism, Multi, PWP, Plot What Plot, Public Nudity, Season/Series 01, Semipublic Sex, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-10
Updated: 2005-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diannelamerc/pseuds/diannelamerc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack, Rose, and the Doctor got so inspired trying to get dressed up for the party that they never made it out the door. But who really wants to miss Mardi Gras 3333 C.E?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Good Times Roll

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of them are mine, and I'll put them back neatly when I'm done. :)

  
_Earth, United North America (Norteamérica unida/L'Amérique du nord unie)  
New Orleans  
3333 C.E.  
February_

 

If the Doctor and Jack were anything to go by, Rose had to admire the stamina of the men of the future. After a quick shag Mickey had always been good for maybe a kiss and a mumbled "Love you" before he rolled right into unconsciousness. After the tangled passion they'd just managed, she was pretty sure that Jimmy Stone, even at his best, would have been out for the night.

But half an hour later here they all were laughing and teasing and pulling out costumes from the TARDIS' more than ample wardrobe. She'd found her panties and was debating whether she ought to put them on again... or not, when Jack casually ran a hand along her bum, reaching past her for an eye patch and bandana.

She dropped the panties and reached for the puddle of silver and gold tissue skirt on the floor. As her fingers brushed the silky fabric she caught sight of the Doctor's bare feet moving past out of the corner of her eye. She hadn't thought bare feet alone could be that sexy on a guy, but the thought was quickly forgotten as she realized the show she must be giving him as he walked past. A very naughty thrill ran right up her spine.

As she righted herself, scrap of dress clutched to her chest in a reflexive, and ridiculous, bid for modesty, it finally hit her. She'd just been in a three-way. An actual three-way in a time machine with a 900-year-old alien and a conman from three thousand years in her future.

Take that, Shireen!

Rose had a half-second's impulse to sneak off for a moment, pull out her phone, and call her best mate with the news. After the wild ride that had been her doomed affair with Jimmy had crashed and burned, Rose had pretty much turned straight to Mickey. He was safe, he was there, and he adored her. Shireen had never been impressed by her choice. "You're only young once, and you want to waste it on him? There's a whole world of fun out there, Rose, and you're missing it all!"

Well, she sure wasn't missing anything now. Even Shireen would have to admit that, Rose thought, as she watched the Doctor and Jack pause for another quick kiss as they passed at the wardrobe door. Two gorgeous, sexy guys, both completely unselfconscious in their nudity, and both of them hers.

It struck her suddenly, watching them together, hands casually tracing over each other's bare flesh, that she should be jealous. But she wasn't. A sudden twitch from low down and deep inside confirmed that she was plenty turned on, but that wasn't what was foremost in her mind. She felt safe. Not Mickey-who'd-never-been-a-risk-at-all safe, but two-dangerous,-powerful-men-who-she-knew-would-do-anything-to-protect-her safe.

And when those two guys — who could probably have anyone they wanted in all the reaches of time and space — broke their kiss and turned to look for her — little 21st-century Rose Tyler — each reaching out hand to draw her back in, she felt loved.

And just a little bit powerful herself.

"Oh, no!" she smirked, wagging a finger at them. "I know where that all leads, and I was promised a trip to Mardi Gras!"

Jack just laughed, moving to toss his bits and pieces of costume on a chair where he could start getting into them. The Doctor scowled at her in mock offense, but she just responded with her biggest, wide-eyed pout. He rolled his eyes and strode into the cavernous wardrobe with a sense of affronted dignity Rose doubted most blokes could pull off starkers.

She giggled and shimmied into the skirt, loving the silky feel of it sliding down over her hips. The fabric was so light against her skin she felt practically nude, and for a minute she debated grabbing her underwear after all. But she dismissed it almost immediately. That was Mickey's Rose talking, always being safe. She grinned to herself as she watched Jack hiking up his breeches over bare skin without a thought. No, she definitely wasn't Mickey's Rose anymore.

As she was working out the logistics of her costume's so-called-top, the Doctor came back out, the plain black mask in his hand so simple she nearly cried foul and sent him back to try again. Until it shifted under the TARDIS lights and she gasped. The Doctor looked up at her with a wicked grin and held it up, turning it slowly this way and that. As the different lights caught it, it didn't just shift color, but shape and, as close as she could tell, even fabric.

Jack whistled in sheer admiration when he spotted it. "A genuine Tebzil Chameleon mask? How much did that set you back, Doctor?"

But the Doctor twitched it out of Jack's reaching fingers without deigning to answer, or even breaking eye contact with Rose. She felt an unaccountable blush creeping up her cheeks as she had a sudden vision of the Doctor hitting the town in that amazing mask... and nothing more. The Doctor's grin took on a lecherous twist, as though he could read the thought right out of her mind... right before he grabbed a black jumper and a pair of his usual pants.

Rose returned to the task at hand. The top was of soft red velvet, but looked more like a vest than an actual top — and a tiny one at that— and Rose kept having to fight the feeling she was putting it on back to front. But the form-fitting nature and shape left little room for doubt. Twisting her shoulders a bit she managed to get her arms through, but across the front, there was just no way....

"It's too small!" she hissed in frustration. You'd think a time machine clever enough to manage hurtling them through the universe with reasonable accuracy and get inside people's minds could manage to produce her a 'goddess' outfit that didn't make her feel like a _cow_.

"No, it isn't," Jack soothed, appearing at her side, bloused pirate shirt only half-laced, and taking the fastenings out of her hands. As he held the taut fabric, the warm skin of his knuckles pressed against her breasts. "You've just never worn a proper bodice before."

Rose found herself starting to blush again. "Whatever this is, I don't think it counts as 'proper'." She tried to ignore the way her nipples were hardening right in front of him.

"Depends on where you are," the Doctor added airily. His voice was muffled for a moment as he pulled on the jumper, "You'd be surprised."

"It's the same basic principle," Jack insisted. "Just grab your breasts in the opposite hands and lift."

Rose blinked, speechless. It was ridiculous, really, considering what they'd all been doing to and with each others' naked bodies not an hour before, that a comment like that could still make her breath catch and her brain freeze.

"They're just in the way, Rose," Jack said, with a look of amused exasperation as he started to mime over his own chest. "They need to be—"

"Like this," came the Doctor's voice in her ear. He reached over her shoulders, one hand crossed over the other, and took a firm grip of her breasts, lifting them up and in. He chuckled at her inadvertent gasp and she could feel her nipples hardening to pebbles against the skin of his palms.

"Exactly," Jack grinned, pulling the straps of velvet across her chest underneath and fastening them expertly. He then leaned in for a quick kiss, one that trailed down one side of her neck as he mentioned casually, "You know, you can let go now, Doctor."

With one small squeeze for good measure, he did so, ignoring Rose's disappointed moan. A moment later, though, she was distracted by the fit of her top. The cut-aways in the snug red velvet kept her breasts pushed up and in, leaving her with a chest much more impressive — and much more exposed — that she'd ever managed with anything from the lingerie section of Herrick's.

"Wow," she breathed, then giggled, awestruck by the sight of her own chest. "21st-century Wonder Bras have nothing on this!"

"Earth design, Crete, round about 3,000 B.C.E.," the Doctor informed her, shaking his head as he stepped away and reached for his jacket. "The amount of discoveries you lot manage to make and then forget in the blink of an eye...."

"So, all right then, where's the rest of it?" Rose insisted, ignoring the Doctor's standard insult of her species, and looking around for the gauze front. Jack fished it off the floor for her and presented it with a flourish.

"You'd have made a very prudish Minoan," The Doctor mumbled, as Rose tried to work out how strip of the star-spattered sheer fabric actually attached over the front of her front-less top.

Jack again, came to her aid. "Well, if they're not covered, how is she supposed to get any beads for flashing them?" He pointed out, reasonably, as he helped her hook a corner to each shoulder and the other two securely to the band of velvet around her ribs.

Rose turned to the side, catching sight of herself in the mirror. The gauze draped low across her chest, making for a rather daring neckline in itself, even without considering the way the fabric clung lovingly to her breasts beneath. Or the fact that its transparency left little to the imagination.

"I don't think anyone's going to shell out beads to see what they already have an eyeful of," Rose said doubtfully.

"You'd be surprised," Jack said with confidence. "Besides, you haven't seen it in the light. That's flourosilk." She let her confusion show on her face. "Trust me," Jack brushed it off, reaching for her hand and dropping a surprisingly chaste kiss on her knuckles.

"And he's right," Jack tilted his head back towards where the Doctor was standing in the doorway behind them. "You look like a goddess."

Rose followed his gesture to see the Doctor lounging in a show of impatient boredom, mask dangling from one hand and only the black-on-black-on-black look making any difference from his usual attire, and almost sighed. Then she caught the intensity of pure lust in his eyes as he looked at her, and for an instant she could have sworn her heart stopped.

"So," Jack broke the endless moment with an air of serious deliberation. "Stuffed shoulder parrot or no stuffed shoulder parrot?"

Rose laughed in pure joy. She may not be a goddess, but at that instant she felt like the luckiest woman in the entire universe.

***************************

Ultimately, the poor stuffed shoulder parrot had been left behind on a shelf, wired feet in the air, pining for the fjords. Jack's pirate outfit was superb, however — tight leather breeches and loose laced shirt, tied round with a wide leather belt from which hung what she was hoping was a fake sword. An earring, eye patch, bandana, and ridiculously over-done velvet hat topped it off nicely.

It occurred to Rose, as Jack lead her out on one arm with a flourish — the Doctor only a breath behind, fastening his mask in place as they walked through the control room — that in three thousand years there had probably been other definitions and images of the term 'pirate'. Technically Han Solo would have counted, right? Meaning that Jack — and the TARDIS — had almost certainly picked this specific get-up with her little 21st-century fantasies in mind.

The thought made her dart in and give her very own pirate a quick unexplained kiss on the cheek before swinging wide the doors to see what Mardi Gras was like in the 34th century.

Rose had never been to Mardi Gras or Carnivalé or anything like it back in her own time, but she'd seen pictures and heard the stories, and she suspected it hadn't actually changed all that much.

Still, knowing that didn't make it any less overwhelming to be swept up in a swirl of lights and sounds and people. She spent the first few minutes with one arm solidly clinging to Jack's and her other hand firmly laced in the Doctor's grip. Just out the door they nearly tripped over a bench where an oblivious couple wearing multi-hued body paint (at least she thought it was paint), a wild variety of feathers, and very little else, were locked together at the lips.

Lacking anything even resembling a pocket, she'd made sure to fasten her TARDIS key firmly and discretely to the clip she'd used to pull up her hair. But the familiar blue shape she now regarded as home — tucked unobtrusively into the corner of an ancient brick building along Bourbon Street — almost immediately disappeared in the waves of reckless humanity that ebbed and flowed like a storm.

But safe between her two anchors, Rose was soon giggling and swaying, drunk on nothing but the atmosphere. Music — both jazz she could almost recognize from her own era, and intricate cascades and mazes of wild sounds like nothing she'd ever heard before — blared out from everywhere and nowhere. Old-fashioned lanterns hung every few steps, filled with dancing lights that would put any disco to shame.

And the people! Costumes that seemed to be nothing but the most elaborate body paint brushed against frilled and feathered extravaganzas that required two attendants just for support and could never possibly have been worn by any real person of any era. Elizabethan court gowns, slit to the hip to display tights decked all over with sparkling firefly lights. A clown so spotted with garish mismatched colors — on clothing and skin — that he looked positively diseased strolled by six feet off the ground. ("Compressed-air stilts," the Doctor had enlightened her in a shouted attempt at a whisper when he saw her gape. His mask was now a mere strip of black cloth with slit eyeholes, worthy of any roadside bandit, and she couldn't help grinning.)

Following what looked like the top of a floating ice-sculpture fairy castle, Rose managed to haul them all far enough forward to see a parade running down the middle of the street. When she caught her first string of beads, tossed by the handfuls from the floats to the cheering crowds, she was completely put out. Looking down she couldn't even blame her revealing costume, as the gauzy fabric rippled in constant reflections of every color that hit it, providing much more of a tease to the eye here than under the steady, subdued lighting of the TARDIS.

"Told you," the Doctor smirked, his mask now a diagonal slash of glowing blue porcelain across his features. She felt his hand slide possessively around her bum as they were jostled by the throng.

But Jack just grinned and fondled the strand in her hand. "Cheap trash," he assured her, for all that the lighted, twinkling beads looked pretty impressive to her. "Everybody gets these. If you're gonna flash, only do it for the good stuff." He nonetheless hung them around her neck, letting his fingers linger, tracing every nerve down her throat, as he did so.

Rose fought the impulse to suggest they all retire to the TARDIS for more fun and games. She also found herself fighting the impulse to just haul them both into some overlooked corner and have her wicked way with them right then and there. She certainly didn't think she'd get much in the way of objections either way. But there was plenty of time for that later, and she wasn't done enjoying the party.

Taking a break from the hustle of the street, the Doctor — his mask now some alien woodcarving of whorls and glittering circles — pulled them into an almost invisible little cafe, and located a tiny semi-circular booth with the air of a magician. Rose was pretty sure it was intended as a two-seater lovebird setup, in its dark little corner, but all three of them happily piled in, laughing like idiots, hips and sides shoved together and elbows already entangled.

She realized she was starving, and happily let the Doctor order a selection for them all. The waiter, not batting an eye at their arrangement — nor at her chest, which she'd suddenly realized was completely exposed in the dim light — brought them big plates of crab gumbo and crawfish jambalaya and these fluffy, light doughnut-like puffs that had some French name she didn't catch.

It was all very spicy (except for the pastry) and very good, and they all dug in like starving creatures. Carelessly feeding both themselves and each other off the common plates. Luckily there was water to hand, for when the spice started taking its toll on Rose. Both Jack and the Doctor, damn them, didn't seem to even notice.

Although, when a carefully mis-aimed bite of crawfish smeared sauce down Jack's cheek, and she apologized by licking it off... slowly.... Well, that didn't just get Jack's attention, apparently, as the Doctor promptly trailed a tidbit down Jack's other cheek and leaned over to duplicate her move. Jack was moaning softly, low in his throat, eyes drifted shut as their table was cleared, and tried to bite back a whimper as they both abruptly deserted him at the waiter's return.

Rose didn't even try to suppress her giggle, receiving in retaliation a quick squeeze to her bum that made her jump with a startled squeak. Spotting Jack's other hand casually resting in the Doctor's lap, and a certain choked look on the Doctor's face made her suspect Jack hadn't let him off without reprisal either.

To finish the meal the waiter had brought a round of drinks in icy silver tumblers with little mint leaves tucked in the top, and — with a flourish — a plate of something that looked like a starburst of thin, deep-fried—

Suddenly Rose wasn't sure letting the Doctor order had been the best idea.

"Oi, what are those?" she asked, her nose crinkling up in disgust. "Tentacles?"

She saw Jack catch the Doctor's eye and grin. "Not telling."

She turned back and found the Doctor sporting one of those grins that took over half his face and almost always meant they were about to be in serious trouble.

"Un-uh." She said "I'm not eating that."

"Aw, come on, Rose," Jack wheedled.

The Doctor affected a mock scowl. "Oi! What happened to wanting to explore the universe? That includes the local cuisine, you know," he added, pushing the plate towards her.

"I bet you don't even know what's in there. It could kill me!" Rose insisted, firmly shoving the tangled mess away.

Jack just laughed, but the Doctor crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. "Yes, Rose, I bring you safely through space, time, wars, murderous aliens, and a string of idiot boyfriends, only to lose you to a deadly _dessert_."

But at that moment Rose found herself choking on something other than the sarcasm. It was mint and cold and sweet and strong.

"Mint julep, " Jack offered before she could ask. "Very 20th-century South," he assured her.

"The mint I got," she managed to choke out around the straw. "But what the hell is a 'julep'?"

"Mostly bourbon," the Doctor admitted, taking an elegant sip from his cup.

But Jack hoisted his in the air, waiting for her and the Doctor to follow suit. "_Laissez le bon temps rouler!_" With a grin to Rose, he translated: "Let the good times roll!"

She grinned, and joined the toast. The julep had to be an acquired taste, but she wasn't turning it down. Unlike those—

Rose turned to make some response to the Doctor's last jibe, but was stopped cold by what she saw. The Doctor's mask was now a swath of feathers across his face, and Rose couldn't help the ridiculous image that popped into her mind: of the Doctor colliding with a brightly-colored bird at high speed. She giggled madly — maybe the drink was kicking in, or maybe it was just her joy at being with these two — and just shook her head helplessly in the face of the Doctor's obvious puzzlement. Before his expression could finish its shift into offended dignity, she slid one hand up the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

She could drown in this, she was sure. Soft lips and moist heat and tangling tongues. Even more so when, as if from a distance, she felt Jack's hand sliding softly, almost chastely, up and down her spine. Reluctantly she broke the kiss as Jack pulled her back against him, not wanting to be left out of the fun. He trailed one finger tip across her lips, sliding it suggestively into her mouth in a way that had her moaning as her eyes drifted shut. He languidly slipped the finger to one side and her mouth gaped open shamelessly as she felt another slide in—

It took a moment for her dazed senses to register what was wrong, but once the taste of deep-fry batter hit her tongue she sat up so quickly she almost choked on the thing. Before she could get either outraged protest or tentacled dessert out, however the Doctor just laid two fingers on her lips, holding them closed.

"Trust me."

Jack was snickering like a schoolboy behind her and the Doctor still had the smug grin on under that feathered mask, but his eyes were completely serious, and she found herself relenting. She knew he'd never really risk her life or health, and the batter had already started to dissolve in her mouth, revealing a not-at-all-unpleasant crisp, fruity taste.

Rose took a couple of bites and realized it tasted nothing so much like crisp green apple underneath. No slime, no chewy tentacles. It was actually _very_ good....

She swallowed deliberately, smiled, and quickly grabbed a handful of each crotch sitting next to her. Jack apparently couldn't stop laughing, although it choked a bit, but the Doctor gave a gratifying jump that jostled the table enough to send what was left of their drinks sloshing over the sides of the cups.

"Rose...," he said in a warning tone that didn't worry her at all.

"No." She let her own grin become wicked as she gave another sudden squeeze. "_Now_ you two tell me what that stuff is."

"Fried grinjin!" Jack gasped, in pleasure, surprise, or pain she wasn't really sure she cared. "Hell, it's only fried grinjin!"

Rose turned her distinctly evil grin on the Doctor next. "And that is...?" From the growing hardness under her hands she was going to have to get answers fast before her methods became ineffective. She let her hand slip a little lower, until she was certain she still had the Doctor's full attention.

"Seaweed," he gulped, failing to maintain the dignity he was so clearly trying for. "Bloody hell, Rose! It's only seaweed."

She promptly let go of both sides, ignoring the protesting groans. "Well, you should have just said so."

"But where was the fun in that?" Jack insisted, hands carefully protecting his nether regions from further assault. "You really should have seen your face...." Her glare failed entirely to wipe the grin off his face.

"It was developed for off-world colonies, but they started growing it here out in the Gulf for food around the turn of the last millennium," the Doctor had slipped into didactic mode as if to reinforce his recovered dignity. His hands were determinedly _not_ in a protective position, but Rose suspected he'd easily beat any further move she made that direction. "The bulk is harvested for raw food base — you can make most anything with it, really — but the top, choice sprouts," he reached forward to break one off for himself, "Are considered delicacies."

"Good," Rose said, pulling the plate directly in front of herself. She pulled a tendril loose, touched her tongue to the tip, and then slooowly sucked it into her mouth. Complete silence reigned on either side and she grinned. "Because I think I _like_ them."

***************************

Ultimately the Doctor had been forced to order another plate for himself and Jack, once Rose made it clear she wasn't sharing. Then they'd protested like little kids when she'd nicked pieces off their plate after hers was empty. She couldn't help it, those things really were delicious.

Finally they dragged her out of there, the Doctor making some crack about her putting on too much weight for the poor TARDIS to handle earning him a sharp elbow in the side. This time they followed Jack, through a slightly creepy back alley, up some stairs, and into what Rose suspected might be an actual bordello. A few whispered words (and possibly cash) from Jack, and they were ushered through a disused doorway into the next building, which seemed utterly deserted.

Within moments they had a small balcony all to themselves right above Bourbon Street. Rose actually heard herself squeal in joy as she grabbed the faux-wrought-iron railing in her hands and looked out. Jack had gotten them the best view in the whole place. She could see everything: the floats, the lights, the people. She turned and threw her arms around Jack for a big hug and quick kiss.

Turning back she saw the Doctor's mask had shifted again. This shimmering half-mask looked more like a cat... or a fox... something with whiskers and a black nose that made her smile as she planted a kiss on his cheek. Or, well, that was her intent, but he moved too fast for her, ravishing her mouth with a deep, searing kiss that made her grab the rail for support as her knees started to give out, and then broke away suddenly with a smug grin on his face.

Rose was still trying to come up with a retort for that when she was distracted by a shout from the street just below them. "What?" she called back, over the noise of a passing float.

"Show. Us. Your. Tits!" came back loud and clear, and Rose could feel a blush creeping up her face. A quick glance down showed the flourosilk was back to covering everything quite nicely under all the bouncing lights.

"Arrr! What are ye offering?" Jack shouted back in full pirate mode, before she could find his ribs with an elbow.

One of the group of four university-age boys grinned and dangled a string of colored, blinking beads that nearly matched the strand already around her neck. "Avast, mateys!" Jack hollered back, flourishing his tin sword dismissively. "How dare ye impugn My Lady's good taste with that trash!" The boys had the grace to look abashed, and a second one held up a clearly heavier strand that shone like silver and then like gold in the light.

"Now that's a bit more like it," she heard Jack mutter, before accosting the boys again. "Nice, nice," he admitted, hefting them for a moment on the tip of his sword. "But My Lady's breasts are not 'nice', boys," he caught her eye and winked. "They are _magnificent_!"

As the boys started digging around amongst themselves, and the blush rose higher in her cheeks, she heard the Doctor call out, "Truly a glory to behold, my good sirs!"

Rose turned to him with a look of shock. She half expected this from Jack, but the Doctor? The grin he gave her back let her know he was having entirely too much fun at her expense.

"Handfuls of pale ripe flesh," the Doctor continued, her cheeks getting hotter by the word. "Rosy soft nipples that would drive a saint to sin and damnation!"

The boys were no longer alone, another seven or eight people must have paused by now to watch the spectacle. Meanwhile the boys had come up with a better offering, holding up finally a string of what looked like—

"God, are those _real_?" Rose gasped, eyes wide.

Jack grinned at her, after running an appraising eye over their offering. "No, but they're damned good imitations. The kind you don't get for just pennies," he added with a smug look at the Doctor.

She followed Jack's gaze, but the Doctor just grinned at her. She could just see an eyebrow raised — in challenge? — behind the mask. Slowly, Rose raised one hand to toy with the hook on her shoulder holding up the gauze.

"Ah!" she jumped as Jack interrupted her internal debate. "A respectable offering for a view of the breasts of such a goddess indeed," he conceded to the leering boy holding what she would have believed were faceted rubies. "But," he paused for maximum effect, scanning the rest of their little audience. "What are the rest of you gawkers offering?"

Trust Jack — showman that he was — she thought, to actually get away with a stunt like that. But sure enough within moments at least eight strands of what looked to be comparable quality were being raised towards their balcony. "Come on!" one of the other guys in the crowd grinned. "Show us your tits!"

They turned it into a chant, radiating so much lust Rose would swear she could _feel_ it like a wave against her already flushed skin. Her eyes opened a bit wider, looking slightly panicked to Jack.

He smiled — a genuine, honest smile just for her — and whispered, "It's your call, sweetheart." And he meant it. She knew right then that if she chickened out and ducked back inside to hide he'd just shoo off the disappointed crowd for her, and not hold it one bit against her. Neither of them would, she knew, glancing back over at the Doctor.

And that was enough for her to raise her hands to her shoulders and start fumbling with the hooks. The chant from below grew louder as she struggled with the odd fastenings, but then the Doctor and Jack were at her sides, each taking a hook. Their free hands slid slowly down her lower back as they paused... then with a flourish dropped the gauze away.

A cheer rose from below, and Rose had forgotten just how impressively exposed the velvet under-vest made her. With a thrill of decadent pride she stepped forward and leaned down, hands out to catch the beads that started rapidly flying her way. A moment later, she felt the hands resting behind her back shift purposefully to straighten her. She had only an instant to wonder what her two guys were up to now before she felt a warm mouth descend upon each nipple.

Rose gasped, eyes closing, head rolling back, a rush of warmth between her legs and wondered if it was possible for her to come just like this. Their little crowd was roaring again in approval and even more beads clattered on the balcony at her feet, but Rose was lost in the sensation of the two men she loved most in this world claiming her as their own before the whole world, their arms laced behind her back and her hips pressed against the cold railing the only things keeping her on her feet.

It could only have been moments later when they moved away, leaving her nipples to harden like beads in the sudden cold before they drew the gauze back up over her. By the time her eyes were open and she was sure of her feet, their little audience had already mostly dispersed, out looking for the next entertainment. Jack was busily gathering up the beads, and the Doctor was just smiling at her from under a simple red-velvet half-mask. "Fantastic," he whispered in a husky voice.

She couldn't agree more, but that wasn't nearly enough. All the teasing, the groping, the playing around that had made the night so wild had finally broken her. She grabbed Jack by his shirt collar and the Doctor by a leather-clad arm and pulled them tight against her. "I need you," she breathed, between kissing them both in turn, "Both of you." Her hands ran in gentle caresses down low enough to verify their interest was also aroused. "I need you. _Now_"

***************************

Jack had been all for taking advantage of the first bed they could find in the deserted house. Left to her own devices, Rose probably wouldn't even have gotten in off the balcony. But the Doctor insisted they return to the TARDIS and, after he pointed out the advantages of that big bed and as much uninterrupted privacy as they wanted, Jack agreed.

The traitor. Rose prepared to pout all the way back, but simply wasn't able to keep it up. Even had the steadying hands on her down stairs and through crowds not lingered in thoroughly inappropriate places, her nipples rubbed against the gauze and her swollen nether lips rubbed against each other with each and every step she took.

She couldn't decide if it was heaven or hell, but even on the run from some murderous horde, she had never been so glad just to see the simple pale blue light on top of the TARDIS.

Key in hand the Doctor had them all inside and the door firmly closed behind them in the blink of an eye. An eye now looking through a half-mask of artfully cracked clear crystal that looked like ice. By common agreement they just kept moving, stumbling through the control room, down a short corridor and almost immediately into the bedroom. Or a bedroom at least. The TARDIS had outdone herself: The place was a riot of green and purple and gold, feather boas and masks hung everywhere.

Panting just inside the doorway, Rose decided she'd appreciate it later. The only thing that interested her right now was the oversized bed that took up most of the space. She turned just enough to collapse right into the middle of it, looking up at her guys, arms extended, begging, and just whispering one word: "_Please_!"

With matching grins they each slid up one side of her, pulled the gauze completely away, and continued from where they'd left off on the balcony. Rose gasped and slid a hand up behind each head as if to trap them there against her. They may have been positioned as a matched set, but their techniques were very different and kept her squirming, almost incoherent beneath them. Now the Doctor was opening wider, taking in more for a good strong suck, before playing with the trapped nipple with the tip of his tongue. Now Jack was licking smaller and smaller spirals in, avoiding the nipple entirely until he grasped it lightly in his teeth and she cried out and bucked underneath them, feeling moist warmth flood her crotch.

On the balcony, she had wondered if she could come from this alone, but now the endless floating waves of sensation seemed only to keep her on the edge, moaning and begging for more. She felt Jack's and the Doctor's hands find each other somewhere around her navel and drag slowly down together over her stomach and up and under the silky tissue skirt. By this point Rose was writhing and moaning like a madwoman and she didn't care one bit. All she cared about was the progress of those hands sliding all the way up her thighs... and right into the hot center of her.

Rose felt the rush of fingers sliding easily inside her, and she was done for. Bucking up against their hands she came in wave after wave of shuddering pleasure. She heard herself scream as if from a distance and felt her internal muscles twisting against the digits inside her.

She must have actually passed out for a moment, because when she came to and opened her eyes, it was to the sight of Jack and the Doctor kneeling over her, kissing passionately, then trading lingering tastes of fingers still slick from where they'd been in her.

It was quite possibly the most erotic thing she'd ever seen. And she was just lying there, limp as a wet rag, unable to do anything but watch.

It was another moment or so before the Doctor looked down and saw her watching them, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Back with us now, are you?" he asked, leaning down for a sweet, gentle kiss. One that she only belatedly realized she could taste herself in. Jack slipped his hands down to her hips, divesting her of the crumpled skirt, while the Doctor made quick work of her velvet bodice.

Rose drew in a deep breath and stretched luxuriously, her torso reveling in the feeling of freedom again. She felt like decadence personified, lying there nude and sated, save for the strands of beads around her neck. Rolling over onto her side she watched the Doctor and Jack, standing now at the foot of the bed and kissing like the world was going to end right then and there. Fumbling, distracted hands were busy on both sides, first discarding masks and Jack's sash and belt, and then only reluctantly breaking apart long enough to strip off blouse and jumper.

And Rose loved it. Something in the back of her mind told her she was a perv, watching these two half-naked men kissing passionately, rubbing hands against flesh and flesh against flesh. Rose calmly told that part of her mind to shut the hell up. They were both gorgeous, they were damned sexy, and they were both hers.

Jack's tight breeches left no question as to the state of his enjoyment, and while the Doctor's looser pants provided some coverage, his aggressive thrusts along Jack's thigh gave him away as well. Just when Rose was thinking they weren't going to make it back to bed at all, Jack pulled away, breathing hard. Both of them were, lips swollen and faces flushed. Jack reached for the Doctor's waistband, had it open in a snap, and let the pants fall away, exposing hot, hard flesh unencumbered by anything at all.

As the Doctor impatiently kicked his shoes and pants free, Jack reached for his own boots and realized that he had a problem. Rose giggled as she saw him try to bend in the ever-so-much-tighter-now breeches and wince as the fabric simply refused to stretch that far. Jack mock-glared at her, which only made her laugh harder at his predicament. In fact she distracted him so completely that he jumped and made a choked noise when he noticed the Doctor kneeling before him on the floor, just at the level of his little problem.

But the Doctor undid boots and breeches — to a sigh of relief from Jack Rose could empathize with — with all the propriety of a valet, apparently taking no notice at all of the impressively stiff and swollen cock only inches away. Standing back up, the Doctor walked Jack backwards towards the bed. Rose scooted up and out of the way as with one hand to the chest he tipped Jack over backwards like a felled tree.

Grinning lasciviously she coaxed Jack further up until he was half-reclining on the pile of pillows near the top. Deciding she wasn't ready to be counted out yet, she pressed her lips down on his swollen ones, and felt his hands reach up for her still-sensitive breasts. But when he squeezed them suddenly and hard, she broke loose with a squeal of protest. His panted apology was so distracted she immediately turned to look down the length of his body, only to lock eyes with the Doctor as he slipped his mouth over the swollen head of Jack's cock.

Rose felt the sudden rush of warmth between her thighs again and wondered how she could have lived as long as she had without realizing two guys could be _this_ sexy together. Turning so that she could watch the show, she absently licked trails and circles across Jack's chest, feeling against her cheek as his breathing grew faster and more broken.

Her viewpoint also meant she saw the evil look in the Doctor's eye just as he pulled away, leaving Jack moaning in need, the sound vibrating right through his chest into her ear. The TARDIS hadn't deigned to translate the swear word Jack hissed out at that point, but clearly the Doctor understood and laughed.

Then he beckoned Rose down to join him.

Turning her in front of him to straddle Jack, the Doctor took a moment to reach forward and cup her breasts tightly, dropping slow, deliberate kisses from her ear down the side of her neck to her collarbone. Then, with a grin she could feel against the skin of her neck, he lifted her by the hips, moved her forward, and lowered her down onto Jack.

Rose let her head fall back against the Doctor's shoulder as she slid down, dedicating all her attention to the feeling of Jack, thick and solid, sliding deep inside of her. When she came to rest against his hips, she languidly opened her eyes to see Jack lying there — eyes closed, every muscle tense, hands fisted into the sheets — clearly determined to keep control. She gave a tiny squeeze just to get his attention, and it worked, his eyes opening to lock with hers. Rose swore she could feel her heart actually twist inside her chest. Lust? That she expected, even took for granted. But the depth of emotion in those blue eyes took her breath away.

Meanwhile the Doctor had moved higher up the bed and now swung himself around to straddle Jack ahead of her. Her arms opened automatically and he slid forward into her embrace, his hardness pressed tight against her stomach, hands tangling in her hair as he traced kisses down the other side of her neck. As he rocked his hips forward Rose gasped, feeling his hardness rubbing directly against her exposed clit.

She started to move, when she caught Jack's eye over the Doctor's shoulder. One mischievous look, a gesture, and she smiled back in agreement: This time they were going to make the Doctor lose control first.

Rose stilled herself on Jack to give them both a little breathing space, as she saw Jack's hands reach forward to take advantage of the fine view the Doctor had given him. She turned her attention to the Doctor herself, trading breathless kisses and tracing her hands down his chest, and then further down between them.

Her hand met Jack's there, and together they wrapped around the Doctor's hardness, causing him to buck and moan in a most satisfying way. Unfortunately for their plan, every rock brought him rubbing against her most sensitive part, and she could feel her own need rising again fast. Her own involuntary shudders and twitches couldn't be doing anything for Jack's self control either.

After a moment, she felt Jack's hand melt away, sliding down even lower to the point where they were joined, trailing his fingers through the ample juices there. Kissing her own way down the Doctor's neck she was able to watch as Jack's now-slippery fingers pulled back and began to work their way into the Doctor's ass.

Wrapped up as she was in him, she felt the shudder of pleasure run through the Doctor's whole body, but as she lost sight of Jack's face again, he still had the determined look of someone who hadn't quite found what he was looking for. He'd better hurry, she thought. While Jack might have some sort of intergalactic sex marathon training to tap into, the pressure and need were building fast in her again and she wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on. The Doctor was kissing her again wildly, breathlessly, finally starting to lose coordination as he desperately tried to rock forward into her and back onto Jack at the same time.

Panting, nearly blind from her own lust, she may not have been able to see much. But when Jack finally hit the bull's eye, she knew it. The Doctor shoved forward hard into her belly, every muscle in his body going absolutely rigid. His face tipped back enough for her to see the uncontrolled rictus of a pleasure so strong it was almost pain twisting his features, and she felt him pulsing in her hand, warm spray against her stomach.

A nine-hundred-year-old master of time and space losing all control in her arms. Because of her, because of them. That was enough for Rose to let go, pushing herself down hard onto Jack and letting her own pleasure ripple through every nerve in her body as she clenched around him. An answering thrust from Jack let her know that he had given up the fight as well.

Panting and clinging to the Doctor like a drowning woman, Rose let every little aftershock roll through her, too limp to move if she'd tried. The Doctor seemed to be in no better shape, but it finally occurred to Rose that they must be crushing Jack like this. Reluctantly she managed to pull herself loose and collapse to the side, pulling the Doctor with her, and then over her, as she went. A gasped breath from Jack told her she'd been right.

"Sorry about that," she managed to pant out to Jack as they shared a triumphant kiss at the success of their little scheme.

"'S o.k.," he responded, at least as breathless as she was. "I think I was dead there for a little while anyway, so I didn't actually need the air."

"_Le petite mort_," the Doctor chimed in, rolling up tight against Rose's back.

"Oh, I don't think there was anything 'petite' about that round at all," Jack countered.

Almost as one the three of them dissolved into schoolyard giggles. They squirmed around a bit before finding a dry, comfortable configuration of tangled limbs and bodies. Rose ended up, predictably enough, mostly in the middle, and managed to dig out a pillow for her head — after this she might not be getting up for a week.

Jack managed to find a sheet to pull over them as well, even though the TARDIS' temperature control would have been enough. Rose decided she liked that too. It felt more intimate somehow, the three of them resting naked and entwined beneath a single sheet. (The TARDIS also didn't skimp on the linen selection — a riot of gold, green, and purple it might be, but it was also the softest cotton Rose had ever felt against her skin.)

The lights slowly dropped to nighttime levels, although whether the Doctor or the TARDIS herself had done it, Rose couldn't tell. She was beginning to drift asleep, feeling the kind of inner peace and happiness she suspected Eastern monks were always babbling on about, when one last question tugged her mind back to consciousness.

"So," she mumbled, "How many beads did we get anyway?"

A chuckle in one ear and a pained groan in the other were the only answers she received before she gave up and slipped gently into the darkness.

***************************  
_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally posted at [A Teaspoon And An Open Mind](http://www.whofic.com/viewuser.php?uid=1190) and before that in [my LiveJournal](http://diannelamerc.livejournal.com/148561.html)._


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